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“We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor 4:8)

I neglected the “remembering who I am” part of yesterday’s blog post. The manic dash through what has become my “life” has made me neglect what really matters to me most: family, friends, farm, even my faith.

No time.

Struggle to make time.

I should be able to find the time.

Why can’t I move today?

So tired…

My poor, neglected garden.

We look like Tobacco Road.

I’ll never catch up.

Overwhelmed…

Depressed…

Sorry, Felicity, but I only have 2 minutes to get on the road again…as my cute, little Nigerian Dwarf goat extends her upside down Madonna grin at me. (Felicity’s gapped teeth are in her bottom jaw, not her top, like the singer’s…)

Guilt.

I could’ve spared her a few more seconds of my time. What if this was my last day with her???

Then I’d be late…

Again.

Who cares? (I do…they do; anyone would…)

More depression…

Those are the arguments, thoughts, feelings, etc. the little hamster running the wheel in my head is sending up on an almost daily basis. No wonder I’ve been rundown. And overwhelmed to the point of being unable to take the steps necessary to be less overwhelmed.

I read a notice on the bulletin board in my doctor’s office last week. It was a summer schedule suggestion to move kids away from too much screen time to actual play, chore, exercise time. The schedule listed just 15 minutes of reading a book; taking a walk; making your bed/cleaning your room, etc. 15 minute manageable bites. And once you did just 15 minutes of these tasks everyday, you could play video games, visit your tablet, etc.

15 minutes…

I decided to adopt and adapt it to my own life. Just 15 minutes…

Every day.

15 minutes to remember who I am each day: a writer, an artist, a homesteader, a herbalist, an animal lover/animal rights’ activist, environmentalist, Christian.

I can do that.

And it doesn’t leave me feeling overwhelmed…or depressed.

And that downstairs closet that I spent 15 minutes on this morning? It looks pretty good. And, okay, it’s actually taken me 17 minutes to type this. But, not bad…it’s only 6:25 a.m.

“Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interest, but also everyone for those of others.” (Philippians 2:3-4)

I’m searching for that one thing to take root and hold. That side hustle, as some may call it, that will help to supplement what I earn at my “day” job. Perhaps it is many things: writing, blogging, art, crafts. Perhaps it is even a return to doing some Reflexology, Reiki and/or Touch for Health on the side. If I had a safe place to practice, I might be tempted. And it is certainly a goal to eventually have a room set aside here at home for a holistic health practice in the future. But, for now, it isn’t possible.

One step at a time…

That is my dream: a sustainable homestead. Not just sustainable in being as environmentally-friendly as possible (although that is one definition and certainly part of the dream), but sustainable on a financial scale, too. I am working towards that day when I can earn a living for and from myself, rather than someone else. A day when this homestead provides an income (or many), along with writing and artwork. But it will take a while to get there, I’m thinking.

And it will never happen as long as I keep focusing on Self.

What can I do as a writer to help others? To fulfill a need or a longing? What can I do as an artist? Or a homesteader for the same? How may I use my talents to serve Him better, His children better? Those are the questions I should be asking. And it shouldn’t matter the outcome. I.e. whether or not it sustains me because my faith tells me to trust Him; He is already providing for my needs. Can He use me to provide for others? To teach? To listen? To share? For too long now I have been operating from a place of want. It’s time to change the way I look at things. I used to say the line from Jewel’s “Deep Water” about my “standard of living somehow got stuck on survive” reflected my way of life. I’m taking a leaf out of Casting Crown’s book now, “It’s time for us to more than just survive; we were made to thrive!”

“I am confident in this, that the one who began a work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)

Despite working with computer and online technology for at least a couple of decades now, I still flub up every now and again. Part of it may be that whenever I go to a new site, new application, etc., I am more liable to just start following menu paths and clicking here and there as to read the actual instructions beforehand.

Such is the case with my new Patreon site. I was supposed to build suspense by posting little snippets of its launch on my social media sites, my blog, etc. Well, as I’ve given up social media for Lent, such a climatic approach would be nearly impossible anyway. So, I clicked the “Launch” button almost from the moment I first logged into the site. Needless to say, a quick visit, at this point, would be a little anticlimatic anyway; I haven’t downloaded much yet.

Bear with me; fiction, in the form of short stories, some poetry, some samples of business icons, etc. as well as paintings, drawings, knitted, hand-spun and hand-woven items will appear from time to time. Perhaps even some herbal products as time goes on. I’m still working it all out.

So, what is Patreon? “Patreon is a membership platform that makes it easy for creators to get paid.” We’re challenged to memorize that; I haven’t yet. It’s in a spiral-bound notebook for the moment. (Chuckle)

PS If, for some reason, this doesn’t bring you to the site (may have to copy and paste in search engine), please post a comment below and I will check into it. Again, I’m still learning. Thank you for reading my blog…and for your patronage! =)

“Now in Joppa there was a disciple named Dorcas. She was completely occupied with good deeds and almsgiving. Now during those days she fell sick and died, so washing her, they laid her out in a room upstairs. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, hearing that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, ‘Please come to us without delay.’ So Peter got up and went with them. When he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs where all the widows came to him weeping and showing him the tunics and cloaks that Dorcas had made while she was with them. Peter sent them all out and knelt down and prayed. Then he turned to her body and said, ‘Tabitha, rise up.” She opened her eyes, saw Peter, and sat up. He gave her his hand and raised her up, and when he had called the holy ones and the widows, he presented her alive.” (Acts 9:36-41)

In the Catholic faith, when you make your Confirmation, you choose a new name. This isn’t a legal name. It’s usually a name from either Scripture or one of the saints. And, in essence, by choosing the name, you are choosing your patron saint.

I chose Tabitha.

In a world where churches are lucky to be half-full on a Sunday morning, and everyone spends more time in front of the boob tube than reading the Bible, you can imagine the quandary this choice created. Even my own mother thought I was choosing a “witch name,” as she called it. In her defense, some translations of the Bible do not mention the name “Tabitha” when recounting the story of Dorcas. And, of course, Elizabeth Montgomery immortalized the name when, as Samantha Stevens in the old sitcom, “Bewitched”, she and husband, Darren, christened their daughter, Tabitha. Who, of course, like her mother, could twitch her nose to make things happen.

I chose the name because the story represented to me a rebirth, much like the one that occurs when you accept Jesus Christ as your Savior. And Dorcas received a new name just like I was in being confirmed.

However, just as some translations don’t mention Tabitha, the Catholic Bible I quoted from at the beginning of this post, only touches on the fact that Dorcas/Tabitha was a seamstress. She sewed and spun and wove fine garments for people in need. This translation has the widows showing Peter some of the garments she made for them, but the translation states instead that she “was completely occupied with good deeds.” I like the other translation better. And, maybe it’s not just the story of rebirth but the humble tasks this dear lady used to help those in need that won my heart and led me to choose her for a patron saint.

Thursday I had my first lesson on the Great Wheel, the Spinning Wheel, the Walking Wheel at work. It has many names; all of them correct. Wool did not traditionally get spun on the little treadle fed spinning wheels we see at the local “Sheep to Shawl” competitions at our local Ag fair. Those portable little wheels more closely resemble a flax wheel. And flax may “Someday” become a crop here at The Herbal Hare Homestead…definitely if this homestead eventually relocates, which is a tentative plan on the horizon (more on that later…). But, for now, I’m spinning wool.

On a Great Wheel.

And loving it.

I’ve tried my hand a few times on the more modern pseudo-flax wheel; I much prefer the Walking Wheel. First of all, it’s a simpler rhythm. And I chose the word rhythm on purpose because the “walk” is almost like a dance as you step to the left while angling the roll of wool away from the spindle, pull it out to thin out the clumps, give the great wheel a turn with your right hand to strength those thinner areas on the roll then give it another gentle stretch. A couple of more turns of the great wheel then we step to the right, turn the wheel slightly in the opposite direction to bring the now yarn up onto the “cone” of the spindle (wound yarn that has built up on the opposite end of the spindle from where we spin it; best way I can describe it) and then slowly step forward while turning the wheel clockwise again to roll the yarn up and back to the left again. Your feet form an almost perfect triangle.

It’s all in the feel, as the wonderful ladies who have been teaching me tell us. Us, because there are 5 of us learning this wonderful art. What wonderfully encouraging instructors we have, too! I was prepared to beg for some practice time towards the end of the day yesterday but I need not have worried. Both ladies were willing to accommodate. And one of them told me yesterday that I was doing very well; I hope so. This is one skill, this and next week’s weaving class, that I really want to master. I suspect every spare moment, if possible, I will be trying to sneak in some practice. I may have to comb some estate sales and auctions. I am envisioning a Great Wheel here at The Herbal Hare Homestead…albeit, I’ll be doing this spinning “dance” to some music. I’m not sure yet what effect spinning yarn while listening to Megadeth will have…

“Although if I should wish to boast, I would not be foolish, for I would be telling the truth. But I refrain, so that no one may think more of me than what he sees in me or hears in me because of the abundance of the revelations. Therefore, that I might not become too elated, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.” (2 Corinthians 12:6-9)

We all have things that we could boast about without looking foolish. Maybe you’re one of the most brilliant surgeons in the country and have helped heal countless other people…or animals, if a veterinary surgeon. Maybe you’re an awesome cook. Or have a beautiful singing voice. Our gifts are countless. And, yes, since He gave you these gifts in the first place, He also uses them to heal the sick, feed the hungry, and bring joy to many.

But, guess what?

That surgeon is also late to every appointment. The cook is nipping the cooking sherry while whipping up the filet mignon. And the singer is dyslexic. Sort of makes all of their accomplishments that much more awe-inspiring, doesn’t it?

And that’s the point.

God doesn’t just use our gifts. He uses our imperfections, too. If everything ran smoothly all of the time, would we notice His miracles? Would we understand that it’s all about Him and not about us? If we were all perfect in every way, would we even think to worship God? So He uses our imperfections. He uses them to further His Kingdom. When we, who are broken, are made whole through Christ, it forces the unbeliever to take notice. Sure, they may scoff and sneer, especially if we give the credit where it’s due for our success. But they notice the accomplishment. And are amazed at the adversities overcome to achieve that success. They may not suddenly become believers. But there’s a seed planted. And God will cause it to bloom in His own time.

Do you notice something though? Despite whatever He helps us to accomplish in our lives, those thorns never really go away. I may be a minister, a writer, an artist and a homesteader. But I am also a survivor of child molestation, an eternal procrastinator and I’m perpetually running late, running behind. I’m terrified of flying. I deal with depression and anxiety, low self-esteem and confidence issues, acid reflux, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Psychological Disorder, and Chronic Epstein-Barr. I’m showing you my brokenness…and thanking Him for all of it: the gifts and the thorns. But especially the thorns. Because that’s what people need to see. Those thorns are blessings in disguise. And there are others with those same thorns in their sides who need to hear that they are not alone. So, whatever adversities you are working with, thankHim.

“Wisdom has built her house, she has set her seven columns; she has dressed her meat, mixed her wine, yes, she has spread her table” (Proverbs 9:1-2)

We hear of plenty of feasts in the Bible but the lowly cook, or baker, is seldom mentioned. Granted, cooking and baking is rather commonplace. Doubtless, there seemed little purpose in mentioning whether or not a feast was tasty or not when stacked up alongside of Jesus’ miracles, or the words of wisdom spoken by the prophets of old. Yet, we all must eat and drink to survive. Who among us, when given a choice, would not choose that fresh, vibrantly-leafed spinach salad over the pale, lifeless and wilted specimen from a can? And who hasn’t grumbled over a meal that didn’t come out “just right”? Though commonplace, the chemistry and magick that is cooking and baking is nothing short of a miracle in itself.

Today such miraculous wizardry is being lost to packaged, processed convenience. The result is unhealthy people and animals, and an unhealthy planet from all of the plastic wrappings. We have lost touch with our food. And that’s a sad thing.

I remember years’ ago, when I first got rid of the microwave once and for all, wanting a bowl of popcorn and finding only microwave popcorn in my larder. It actually set me into a bit of a quandary. I think that was my first real step away from processed foods. I bought a bag of old-fashioned popping corn (at a fraction of the cost of a box of microwavable popcorn!), heated some olive oil on the stove and gently shook the covered sauce pan back and forth until it all popped. The lifeless cardboard that is microwave popcorn has never been seen–or eaten–at The Herbal Hare Homestead again.

Since then, I’ve spent a number of winters learning how to cook and bake from scratch, searching through numerous cookbooks and trying new recipes; some came out well, some not so well. But I learned. Eventually, I purchased a cookbook by Alana Chernila entitled: The Homemade Pantry: 101 Things You Can Stop Buying and Start Making; it was a gold mine. Everything from a delectable recipe for baked mac n cheese to homemade marshmallow fluff. And, before any modern folks complain about the time lost in cooking, it is time much better spent than sitting before the boob tube. In fact, for me, it became a sort of “zen” time, a time to cast aside any worry or complaint and just “be”. It recharged the mental and emotional batteries…and the end results recharged me physically. Who wouldn’t feel completely blessed sitting before a roaring wood stove with a bowl of homemade lentil soup, fresh-baked rye bread and, while it came from a local package store rather than my bees, a glass of smooth mead while the snow piles up outside your window? (I haven’t tried my hand at homemade mead yet…stay tuned for future endeavors)

Microwaves, dish washers and Keurig machines are banned here at The Herbal Hare Homestead. But I still use an electric stove, toaster oven, drip coffee machine and even a bread machine. There are no plans to replace the latter once it burns out but these are the tools of modern cooking and baking from “scratch”.

Now, as I meander through 19th century cooking and baking at my job, I’m finding a new level of zen in antiquated kitchens…and discovering a whole new meaning to the phrase “cooking and baking from scratch”. Coffee doesn’t go through the drip machine–or even the percolator my grandmothers used. Raw, green coffee beans are roasted on the fire, sending out an aroma that puts the drip machine to shame; the dough is set to rise overnight in the bread box–a long wooden vessel that resembles an infant’s cradle–and then, as the fire is lit and kept roaring in the bake oven for, roughly, 3 hours before being ready for baking, is kneaded by hand and set to bake on the bricks. I am amazed at what 19th century women accomplished with little more than a fire, a kettle or two, a “spider” (skillet with legs)…and maybe some sturdy twine to dangle your meat over the flames to slow roast. They didn’t use (or need) fancy gadgets or tools, and yet, they created small miracles, small masterpieces of art everyday. Cooking and baking claimed much of a woman’s morning and early-afternoon in the 19th century (kitchen fires were typically banked after the midday meal and cold leftovers, or bread and cheese sandwiches, served as a light repast before bed). Few women worked outside the home (though factories were changing that for a younger generation of ladies) so “convenience” food was relegated to cold pies and bread, and the beans you baked overnight on Saturday to be eaten for the Sabbath. (Any “unnecessary” work was avoided on Sundays…and that included cooking and baking.) Cooking in a kitchen where all I have to do is turn a dial to get an electric “flame” seems almost like cheating now. (I wonder if 19th century clergy would consider our modern methods “work”…)

I created my own masterpiece on a 19th century hearth. This was baked in a kettle instead of a bake oven. And, while it won’t merit the term “miraculous” in any biblical terms, still, I’m claiming some bragging rights. (And, yes, I know all about the sin of pride…even we ministers have human failings…)

“And we have this confidence in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” (1 John 5:14)

I struggle to know His will for me versus my own hopes, dreams and aspirations. Did He put these dreams on my heart because this is where He wants me to go? Or am I hoping to super-impose my will over His simply because He provided the grace, the talent, the desire…whether we’re talking writing, art or homesteading? I guess, in some ways, I’m trying to read God’s mind. It’s almost as if I’m looking for permission to be a writer, artist and/or homesteader. And, in the long run, I don’t think He minds what avenue we choose to spread His word, to do His will. His will is that we love Him with our hearts, our minds, our souls–in short, every ounce of our being, and to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Last Sunday this awful cold–which is turning into bronchitis, I suspect–kept me from church. Mom and I sat and watched some daily devotional videos with Mark Hall from Casting Crowns. I am going to paraphrase him but we’re not writers. Or artists. Or bankers. Or whatever our profession. We’re Christians who write, draw/paint, or work in a bank. In other words, being Christian, serving Christ, should be first. That should be our identity. I like that because it puts us all on the same playing field. We’re all the same in God’s eyes.

So today I am a Christian who writes. And I finally finished the mural I blogged about many months’ ago. I’m also a Christian who paints:

The ultimate symbol of Christ’s sacrifice for us shining down on all of my dreams. I’ve spent a lot of time in holistic health, which tends to have a crossover with New Age beliefs. There’s a lot of talk about manifesting your dreams. In short, in many ways, it is a feeble attempt to superimpose our own wills over God’s. But His plans are greater than any that you or I may have. And, if it is His will, His means of getting there are much more effective. Still, it was rather nice to pour all of my longing into this folk-art rendering of where I hope to be one day.